


to me, this is perfect

by mondeblue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Up, Post-Canon, they're both idiots though, tsukki is an angst ball, yams is too good too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondeblue/pseuds/mondeblue
Summary: Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should have been over it three years, five months and six days ago.Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should have felt joy and pride when his best friend brought a girl home for the first time.Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should not still be in love with Yamaguchi three years, five months and six days after.It’s ironic, really – he’s always prided himself in being technical.





	to me, this is perfect

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: NONE OF THE FORMATTING CHANGES ARE INTENTIONAL. I'M JUST LAZY.

    Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should have been over it three years, five months and six days ago.

Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should have felt joy and pride when his best friend brought a girl home for the first time.

Technically speaking, Tsukishima Kei should not still be in love with Yamaguchi three years, five months and six days after.

It’s ironic, really – he’s always prided himself in being technical.

\--

Akiteru always joked that for Kei, puberty came hurtling in with grace and much haste. He was a head taller than everyone in his class in the first grade, taller than some of the teachers by fifth, and the tallest person in school by ninth. His voice never went through embarrassing voice cracks, his skin perfectly clean and unmarred by acne. He built a cool-guy image around himself, and never broke it.

The same could not be said for Yamaguchi.

When Kei first met him, that fateful day - what grade was it again? He can’t remember anymore – he was shorter than most of the girls, with a high-pitched voice and baleful doe eyes. He was a mess of flailing limbs and red-tinted freckles, and even as he grew up and pushed past that phase he’d never seemed quite comfortable in his body.

That is, until he went on vacation to the Caribbean the summer before university, and came back as an Instagram model.

\--

“Tsukki, I’m home!”

“Hey.” He makes his way to the front door, where Yamaguchi is waving goodbye to his parents. “Why do you have so many suitcases?”

“My mom worries a lot,” and there’s that familiar sheepish tone that seems to settle in Yamaguchi’s voice like it’s meant to be there. He shuts the door, swapping his shoes for slippers, and looks up, grinning. “I missed you, Tsukki. How was your break?”

And that’s approximately when Tsukishima Kei dies of an aneurysm.

Yamaguchi has ditched his former lanky volleyball player trope in the span of a week; he stretches his arms upwards and Kei has to swallow hard at the sight of tan skin shifting over lean muscle. He’s never believed those one-month transformation videos until now, observing the way Yamaguchi’s shirt (is it new?) rides up, exposing angular hips that make him want to repeatedly smash his head into a wall. He’s finally gotten rid of that signature cowlick at the top of his head, and now his hair flops stylishly over his eyes, the green hue less mismatched and more- well.

 _Attractive_ , is what his mind supplies him.

 _Fuck off_ , is what he supplies his mind.

“It was okay,” he manages to force out around the need to die in his throat. “You’re late, by the way. I ate dinner without you.” _That’s a lie_ , says his mind again, starting to sound suspiciously like Kuroo. The need to die becomes more intense. _You have his portion in the fridge because you’re whipped as fuck-_

“My vacation was nice!” Yamaguchi, of course, sees right through his snark, taking two suitcases in each hand and pulling them across the hallway. “I drank lots of smoothies and did some rock climbing. The cruise ship was _huge_ but the rooms are really small, they’re kind of cool though? Like airplane washrooms, you know, really efficient and high-tech and stuff and you’re like _whoa! This much stuff can fit inside this much space?_ ”

Kei turns, hiding a smile (because he’s always loved it when Yamaguchi rambles on like this, and you forget that he’s a PhD candidate in psychology at one of the most prestigious universities in Japan because he’s such a _kid_ ), and says the only thing he can. “You talk too much.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,” and this time it’s no longer sheepish but cheeky, carefree, and if this change is going to be permanent Kei is moving out. “I already ate dinner, by the way.”

“Okay,” Kei says, walking into his room. “I’ll be in my room. I won’t be doing anything important.”

In hindsight, this really should’ve been a sign.

\--

“You’re being stupid,” Kuroo says the second Kei opens the door.

“Go back to Tokyo,” Kei says, and closes the door.

Of course, Kuroo is an expert when it comes to disregarding Kei’s wellbeing and lets himself in, holding a screenshot of their text conversation aloft on his phone. “Making me come all this way only to send me back? You really _are_ cold, Tsukki.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” Kuroo kicks off his shoes and saunters into the living room barefoot, flopping onto the couch and taking up all the space like the giant asshole cat he is. “That privilege is reserved for your _boyfriend_.”

Kei turns redder than the Nekoma jersey and throws a cushion at Kuroo with passion. “This is why I like Bokuto better.”

“It’s just because he’s not smart enough to figure out your sad excuse of a love life,” he drawls, beckoning to Kei with a lazy hand. Kei, of course, ignores him. “Also because he’s too busy fucking Akaashi.”

 _There’s another image that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life_. “That’s not literal, is it?”

Another lazy hand flap. “Nah, of course not. Akaashi’s not into that stuff. Besides, I’m not here to talk about Bokuto and Akaashi.”

“You’re literally the one who brought it up-”

“No,” Kuroo says dramatically, putting a hand on his chest, “I’m here to talk about your emotional constipation.”

“I never _asked-_ ”

“-because I’m so _benevolent_ and _kind_ , I will gladly share my wisdom with you, free of charge, amassed over countless years of travelling and experiencing the world.  Tsukishima Kei, _hop on that freckled dick already_.”

“I hope you choke on a hairball,” Kei says sincerely.

\--

“So, Yamaguchi, what’s _your_ ideal type?”

Kei wants to die.

It’s midnight and they’re sitting in the club room, twelve stupid teenage boys crammed into a small space like sardines. (Or flying fish, in Kageyama’s case.) They’re playing a game of Truth or Dare – or at least, they were, until someone asked Hinata who his ideal type was and he said ‘Kageyama’ without hesitation. Now they’re just playing Ask Each Other Uncomfortable Questions. Kei, who had never wanted to be part of the original game in the first place and _certainly_ doesn’t want to be in the remake, has resigned himself to putting on his headphones and turning his music up full volume.

He’s underestimated how loud stupid teenage boys can be, though. (Rookie mistake.) So of course he doesn’t miss it when Yamaguchi, scratching the back of his very red neck like he always does, replies.

“A girl who’s nice,” he says.

“A girl who’s genuine,” he says.

“A girl who’s sweet,” he says.

Kei excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

None of the bathrooms are open, of course – it’s midnight in the middle of winter break. Everyone knows this, but Daichi and Suga are the only ones who shoot him a look of concern as he walks out of the room, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. Kei can’t bring himself to care. He’s too busy thinking about Yamaguchi’s words.

He’s known, objectively, that he’s never stood a chance with Yamaguchi. Hoards of girls – and a few guys – approaching him between and after school hours with confessions and homemade sweets beg to differ, but Yamaguchi’s always been different, approaching the scary kid who always sat at the back of the classroom and glared at everyone, befriending the bald girl with crippling social anxiety. He’s never cared about appearances, always managed to see the good in everyone.

Yamaguchi is too good for him, Yamaguchi _knows_ he’s too good for him – Yamaguchi is kind enough to call Kei his best friend, but not nearly self-destructive enough to want more than that.

He knows this. He knows this, but he sits down hard under a lamp post just outside school grounds, the same place he and Yamaguchi had met Hinata and Kageyama, and feels the ground crumbling underneath his feet just the same.

 _Nice_. Kei is not nice. He has never tried to be nice, and even if he did he’s pretty sure it would come out mean.

 _Genuine_. Kei is not genuine. He hides himself underneath layers and layers of sarcasm, hiding behind biting comments and snarky insults, burying himself under nihilism and apathy so oppressive only Yamaguchi has the patience to dig out his true meaning. And even then, there have been times where Yamaguchi has lost his temper, trying to reach Kei through miles of soundless dark.

 _Sweet_. Kei is not sweet. Kei is bitter as a loss, bitter as dark chocolate, bitter as swallowing pride and years of untold truths. Kei will forget about anniversaries and birthdays, and puts little effort into celebrating either.

And, most importantly of all, Kei is not a girl. Kei is not a girl, and therefore Yamaguchi will never, ever think of him as more than a close friend, because Kei is not a girl.

In the end, he stays outside for so long Suga has to get him.

\--

Yamaguchi brings her to their dorm room the day after exams, as Kei is getting ready to go home. She is pretty, and nice, and genuine, and looks at Yamaguchi like every freckle on his skin is a star leading her home.

The first thing Kei says is, “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“There’s no point trying to tell you anything when you’re studying.” Yamaguchi’s right, as he always is. “But I wanted to introduce you guys. Tsukki, this is my girlfriend, Isei. Isei, this is Tsukki.”

The girl steps forward. She is taller than Hinata but shorter than Yamaguchi in a pleasing way, enough that when they stand next to each other they look happy and domestic and disgusting. She has long dark hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and a figure that suggests dancing as a profession. She is exactly the opposite of Kei, and exactly Yamaguchi’s type.

“I’m Aisha Isei,” she greets, bowing respectfully. “You must be the Tsukishima Tadashi’s always talking about.”

They’re on a first-name basis already. Kei feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “Tsukishima Kei.” He turns to Yamaguchi, who is looking at him like _don’t fuck this up_. “I need to finish packing in an hour. I’ve still got stuff to fold.”

Yamaguchi nods, and looks at Aisha with a smile that Kei has never seen in the decade they’ve known each other, without an ounce of familiar apologetic amusement. _How many times have I made him apologise?_ “Come on,” he says, “I’ll show you around.”

“Don’t go in my room,” Kei says, even though Yamaguchi knows, and turns away to call Akiteru.

He finished packing in the morning.

\--

Kei, ironically, falls in love watching the movie he hates the most.

“Twilight is stupid,” he says for the umpteenth time that evening, as Yamaguchi is piling cushions on the couch and laying out snacks on the tea table. “I don’t understand why you enjoy this stuff.”

“It’s a love story for the ages,” Yamaguchi explains patiently, like he always does, grabbing the remote and jumping backwards onto the couch. The springs squeak in complaint, and Kei shoots him a disdainful look. “It transcends species and norms-”

“They’re all white,” Kei points out. “And I’m pretty sure you just described bestiality.”

“Let the haters hate,” Yamaguchi says, smiling.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Kei says, trying not to smile.

They’re halfway through the movie when Yamaguchi grabs Kei’s arm. “Here comes the good part,” he whispers, and Kei, looking down at him set against the soft light of the television, spends a lot more effort than usual pushing him off. He hasn’t been paying attention to the movie, but the reason he suddenly tunes back in is entirely unrelated to Yamaguchi’s eagerness, the way his eyes shine in the half-lit room.

On screen, Bella says, “You’re sort of beautiful,” and the reason Kei finds himself compelled to glance down at Yamaguchi is entirely unrelated to the soft hair tickling his cheek, signature dark green against ice blond.

Only, Yamaguchi is looking back.

On screen, Jacob says, “How hard did you hit your head?” and Yamaguchi is looking back, and there are galaxies of secrets in the ways his eyes flicker back and forth along Kei’s face, desperate, yearning. Kei leans, imperceptibly, closer.

Yamaguchi leans away.

 _Fuck_.

“I have to go,” Kei says, and grabs the bag at his feet, standing up so quickly he feels lightheaded. Yamaguchi stands up with him, clicking off the TV.

“Tsukki, are you-”

“ _Shut up,_ Yamaguchi,” and Kei doesn’t care about the venom in the way he snaps, doesn’t notice the way Yamaguchi recoils in shock because _how did he not notice before?_

He runs out of the house, a million thoughts running through his head, but the only one he can hear is, _I love Yamaguchi. I love Yamaguchi. I’ve been in love with Yamaguchi for, for…_

 _For a very, very long time_.

“Fuck,” Kei says aloud.

They don’t speak for a week.

\--

            “You’re waiting for them to break up, aren’t you?”

            Kuroo and Bokuto are doing their dumb thing in the kitchen (Kei assumes this from years of experience and the chant of ‘ohoho’ emanating from the general area), leaving Kei alone with Akaashi. The former Fukurodani setter is staring him down with a tranquility so invasive of his privacy, he feels himself unconsciously leaning away.

“You’re waiting for them to break up,” he repeats, and Kei flinches. “You’re still holding out, even though they’ve already gotten engaged. Even though it’s been three and a half years, and Yamaguchi has already moved out, you still can’t bear the thought of sharing him with someone else.”

It’s true. Kei is unbearably, disgustingly selfish. It’s a part of him that has stayed constant throughout the years.

Akaashi is still staring at him. It’s unnerving. “You’ve been chickening out of telling him for a very long time, haven’t you?”

“Akaashi, you’re scaring Tsukki,” Kuroo says, emerging from the kitchen. “Although, for the record, I’ve been trying to tell him the same thing for – has it been ten years now? Yes, I think so.”

“Why are any of you still here,” Tsukki says to nothing in particular.

“Ooh, are we talking about Tsukki’s crush?” Bokuto emerges too. “He’s cute, you know. I’d tap that if I were you.”

“Except, did you tap that?” Kuroo’s grin is mischievous and troublesome. “No. Instead… if you will, bro.”

“No problem, bro.” Bokuto gets on one knee in front of Kei, hideous eyebrows waggling. “ _I ran, ran so far away…_ ”

“Get out of my house,” Kei says. Akaashi pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

\--

_From: Yamaguchi_

Hey, Tsukki! :D It’s been a while~ I was thinking we could meet up?

 

_To: Yamaguchi_

I can’t. Conference.

 

_From: Yamaguchi_

:( Since when did you get so busy, Tsukki?

It’s been, what, a few months? Since I graduated

I know it’s hard to make the drive since I live on the other side of town now

But I miss you a lot <3

Isei wants to know how you’ve been doing, too

You’re still coming to the wedding, right?

_To: Yamaguchi_

Sure.

\--

Kei supposes Yamaguchi introducing Aisha as they’re wrapping up university is a blessing in disguise, because Kei spends the rest of their time sharing a house making Yamaguchi want to move out.

After that evening, Kei removes himself from Yamaguchi as much as possible. He goes to the library to study whenever they’re both home, and on the occasions when he absolutely has to exist in the same space as Yamaguchi he creates a barrier using headphones and books off his reading list. At first, Yamaguchi tries – asks to watch movies, waits for him to have dinner, says goodnight every day. But, as he runs faster and faster, Kei stays farther and farther away, until one day Yamaguchi shoots him a scathing look as he’s walking out the door and says, “I feel like you’re not even here anymore, Tsukki.”

 _Don’t call me that_ , Kei wants to say, because he’s not sure when he’ll tip over the edge and lose the control he’s spent his entire life perfecting. “You’re moving out in a month anyways, so what’s the difference?”

For the first time in the three years they’ve lived together, Yamaguchi slams the door on his way out.

\--

Akaashi’s right. It’s always been Kei and Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi and Kei. The first-year duo, then the second-year duo, then captain and vice-captain.

The moon and its stars.

This is what Kei thinks when Yamaguchi sees Aisha out the door, a fondness on his face that cuts through Kei’s core with how unfamiliar it is, a far-away horizon that’s impossible to reach. _Because I am not nice. Because I am not sweet, I am not genuine, and I am not a girl_.

When Yamaguchi comes back, Kei meets him in the middle. “How long have you been dating?”

Yamaguchi looks surprised and pleased by the question, and Kei thinks, _stupid_. There used to be a time where he could see past his questions, find what he was really asking and give the answer he didn’t want but needed. Kei blinks, and there’s a gaping chasm between them, jagged rock and roaring darkness standing between the moon and the stars that always told it where to go.

How long has it been this way?

“Only a few months,” Yamaguchi says. “She’s in my Anthro class.”

So that’s why Yamaguchi wakes up so early now, when before Kei would have to push him out of bed. It’s all the little things that have changed – and maybe Kei has been as oblivious as Yamaguchi is being now, and maybe the chasm between them is much wider than he originally thought. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Don’t say exams, because you know it’s bullshit.”

“To be honest…” even the apologetic smile Yamaguchi gives him is distant and cold, the colors going into negative. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do!” Yamaguchi looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “We’ve been best friends for more than a decade now, I’d be _stupid_ if I didn’t trust you-”

“Then why are you being so stupid now?” This, this is why Yamaguchi is too good for him, because he is callous and biting and unnecessarily cruel.

“Why are you being like this, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi’s voice is soft, hurt; Kei has never heard it like this. Apparently, tonight is a night for firsts. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be _mean_ to her. I know a lot of it isn’t real, but you can really be such an _asshole_ sometimes. And…” _why do you sound so bitter? That’s my job._

_Why do I hurt you, every single time?_

“…and you proved me right,” Yamaguchi finishes, unable to look Kei in the eye. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t.”

His laugh sounds harsh, brittle with cold, and he walks past Yamaguchi to his room, their shoulders bumping together with so much force Yamaguchi stumbles. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He slams the door behind him and sinks to the floor, head in his hands. He doesn’t sleep that night.

He has never hated himself more.

\--

            On the day Yamaguchi moves out, Kei almost says it.

            He walks out of his bedroom with the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen windows and sees the boxes all piled up and every trace of Yamaguchi gone, sees familiar dark green hair shining in the golden light, sees freckles and a familiar silhouette leaning against the counter enjoying a cup of coffee and almost says, _I love you_.

            But he is smarter - or, depending on how you see it, dumber - than that, so he stays silent and makes his way over to the kitchen.

            It’s Yamaguchi who speaks first, because it always is. “We’ll keep in touch, right?”

            Kei swallows hard, looks into the glaring sunlight because it hurts less than looking at Yamaguchi, in _their_ home for the last time. “Yeah.”

            “We’ll text all the time.”

            “Yeah.”

            “And we’ll go out for coffee.”

            _Don’t phrase it like that._ “Yeah.”

            Another long silence, that seems to claw at the edges of Kei’s soul. “I’ll miss you.”

            _Not as much as I'll miss you._ “I know.”

            The doorbell rings, then, just as Yamaguchi is taking a breath, ready to say more. Kei goes to open the door, because being near the boxes and the sunlight and a silhouette leaning against the counter is beginning to suffocate him.

It’s Aisha, beaming, because of course it is.

            _They’re moving in together_. Kei had tried so hard to forget, it had actually worked. “Hi.”

            “Hey,” she says, craning her neck around him to call into the apartment - his apartment, _their_ apartment, because Kei wants to keep Yamaguchi to himself for just a little longer. “Tadashi, come on!”

            “Right,” and suddenly Yamaguchi’s right behind him, speaking over his shoulder, and it’s so painfully reminiscent of late-night Twilight marathons and dimly-lit eye contact heavy with subtext that Kei flinches away. “I’ll be out in a bit. Help with the boxes, Tsukki?”

            Kei looks at his feet. “Yeah.”

            In the end, he doesn’t see Yamaguchi out the door, and spends three years regretting it.

\--

_From: Sugawara_

Did you hear?

 

_To: Sugawara_

Hear what?

 

_From: Sugawara_

Yamaguchi’s wedding

It’s cancelled

They broke up

…Tsukishima?

Are you okay?

\--

            They’re sitting on Kei’s bedroom floor like they always do, pens in hand and textbooks in lap. For the entire afternoon there’s been nothing but the quiet scratch of pencil against paper, the rustle of pages and long, even breaths. Kei feels his heartbeat slow down until his eyelids are starting to droop, and wonders how he’s ever survived the crunch of exams without Yamaguchi there, evening out his pace and remaining a constant as the world around them shifts.

            Blue-gray is seeping through the curtains and Kei is beginning to debate whether to turn on the light when Yamaguchi says, gentle voice cutting clean through the atmosphere, “Hey, Tsukki. How would you define love?”

Kei doesn’t look up from his notes but stops fiddling with his pen, a subtle change he knows Yamaguchi will pick up on, a sign that he’s listening despite the headphones around his ears.

He’s not wrong. “Like,” and Yamaguchi shifts closer here, just a small effort to bridge the gap between them, “I have to write this essay about what love means to me and it’s just… hard to put into words, you know? I’ve always known, but it’s something I’ve known so absolutely that I can’t put it into comprehensible thought. Kind of like explaining how to breathe.”

“Contractions of the lungs and diaphragm,” Kei responds, and Yamaguchi laughs.

“Sorry, Tsukki.” Kei can hear the twinkle in his eye. “I forgot how smart you are.”

 _Not as smart as you_. Sure, Kei gets higher grades, but Yamaguchi’s the one who’s going to go places. Besides, they’re both in the enhanced class, so it’s not like it’s a comparison worth making anyway. “Love is love,” Kei says. “It’s irrational and emotion-driven and the opposite of logic. It’s stupid.”

“But love is also _powerful_ ,” Yamaguchi says, and has he always been this close? “It’s so – it’s a constant, it’s always there, it’s like – it’s like our friendship, Tsukki! You know I’ll always be next to you, and I know that you’ll always be a little less mean to me than you are to everyone else!”

“Thanks,” Kei deadpans, and Yamaguchi laughs again. Kei feels like he’s suffocating, but when he glances at his window he finds that it’s propped wide open. He looks back to see if Yamaguchi has noticed anything, but the other boy is deep in thought, tapping a pen against his chin. From a completely objective standpoint, Kei notes how much he’s grown over the course of their friendship – his jaw is sharp, Adam’s apple a clear-cut line silhouetted by the dim evening light. (This, of course, is completely objective.)

“So love is like my friendship with Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, more to himself than anything. “Yeah, I could do something with that.”

Kei scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Really, he’s a hypocrite.

He’s a hypocrite because late at night, long after Yamaguchi has gone home for dinner, he lies in bed projecting his thoughts to the ceiling, mapping out his day in the glow-in-the-dark stars left behind from when he was in grade school. He thinks about love, and Yamaguchi, and how the green-haired pinch server has always been there, a pillar, following him into the depths of hell only to lead him out again. Unbeknownst to Kei up until this point, Yamaguchi has carved out a spot for himself in his existence, remaining as a constant through mountains and valleys and rolling seas, and the void that would result if that constant were ever removed is too dark to even try to look into.

Kei thinks about love, and Yamaguchi, and if their friendship could really be classified as love, then maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

\--

Kei is waiting for something.

He doesn’t know what. It’s been three days since Suga’s text and he’s found himself staring at the door for no particular reason more often than not, the habit working itself into his daily routine before he can so much as blink. He knows that it’s been months since they’ve texted and years since they’ve spoken in person, but for some reason he still expects familiar green hair and freckled skin behind him whenever he turns.

How had he not realized before? How had he not predicted how much he needed Yamaguchi in his life, to follow and guide him through? Even now, three years, five months, and six days later, the void is still open, waiting for the familiar call of “Tsukki!” to echo in the peripherals of his daily life.

For someone who prides himself in intelligence, he’s really such an idiot.

On the third day of waiting for something he doesn’t deserve to have back, Kei falls asleep with sunlight bathing his face and wakes up to something much better than he could ever dream up.

\--

The knocking is loud. The neighbors are probably up and probably pissed because _someone is knocking at his door with the force of a guerilla downpour_.

Kei blinks the unique grogginess of a midday nap out of his eyes and pulls himself upright sluggishly, padding over to the door while running a hand through the tangled thicket of his bedhead. “Who the fuck…” he mumbles to the clock mounted above his door, rolling his shoulder back and enjoying the crack that follows.

And that’s how, in his rumpled, stained flannel and too-loose jeans, Kei sees him again.

Yamaguchi.

 _Yamaguchi_.

Kei didn’t know it was possible to fall back in love with someone you never fell out of love with in the first place.

It’s Yamaguchi, standing in his doorway like a dream come true, hair a little longer, freckles a little darker, looking rumpled and domestic in a wrinkled white shirt and athletic pants. It’s Yamaguchi, holding onto his doorframe for support, hunched over and heaving through shaking sobs-

Wait. Shaking sobs?

“Tsukki,” he says, and _oh_ , he was waiting for this for so long, but not like this. “Tsukki, I’m sorry, I’m sorry it took me so long and I’m sorry I hurt you so much."

"Yamaguchi," Kei interrupts, and no, he wasn't supposed to say that, this is coming out all wrong. "You're not making any sense."

"…It’s- it’s _you_ , Tsukki. It’s you, it’s _always_ been you, and I was stupid to think it could ever be anyone else. I hurt you, I hurt Isei, because I couldn’t _see-_ ”

“ _What’s_ me?” Kei demands, but he can barely hear himself through the pounding bass drum lodged in his ribs. He thinks he knows where this is going, but he doesn’t dare hope – nothing good comes out of hope, if the past three years have taught him anything.

“ _You_ , Tsukki,” and Yamaguchi is gripping his shirt, warmth seeping through the fabric into Kei’s skin. _You are my stars_ , he thinks. _I’ve been blind for three years._ “I’m in love with you. I’ve _always_ been in love with you.”

 _Oh_ , Kei thinks, distantly. _So this is what I’ve been looking for all along_.

“Took you long enough,” he says, because he always says the wrong thing at the worst time. But Yamaguchi laughs, pushes his hair out of his eyes, wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says easily, grinning, and even though his words are still wet with tears and he’s a little hassled around the edges he’s the most beautiful thing Kei has ever seen in his life. “You waited for a long time, huh?”

“Three years, five months and six days,” Kei says, and Yamaguchi laughs again. He’s missed this; he’s missed all of this so much it feels like a void is closing within him. “I kept track.”

Yamaguchi smiles up at him. Kei vows to never take it for granted ever again. “Did you know I’d come back?”

“Of course not,” he says. “But I was holding out for something.”

“You’re more of a romantic than you let off, Tsukki.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

This is familiar, he thinks as he pulls his childhood best friend to him, and they meet in the middle in a mess of opportunity and tangled limbs. This is good.

This is perfect.

 

_+coda_

Yamaguchi drops down next to him on the sofa, _their_ sofa, a bowl of popcorn in his arms and the Twilight DVD case in one hand. The springs squeak, and Kei scowls, but it’s all superficial. “I can’t believe,” he starts, and Kei groans. He knows what’s coming. “You didn’t tell me for _four years_.”

“Three years, six months, and-”

“Shut up, Tsukki.” Kei promptly clamps his mouth shut. Yamaguchi only found out about his weakness for the catchphrase, and already he’s milked it to its full potential and more. “ _Four years_ , Tsukki. We could’ve been doing this for _four_ _years_ , if you had just manned up and told me-”

“It’s not like you were smart enough to figure it out until four years later anyway,” Kei interrupts, and Yamaguchi recoils dramatically like he’s been scathed. The image is disgustingly reminiscent of a certain #10 redhead without the capacity to stay quiet or still, but because it’s Yamaguchi Kei doesn’t mind so much.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says, fitting his head into the space between Kei’s neck and shoulder and instantaneously relieving himself of any crimes in the past. “Or should I say, _Kei_?”

Unfair. The amount of advantages Yamaguchi has over him is unfair. Well, except-

“Whatever you want. _Tadashi_.”

Yamaguchi splutters like a fish for the entire opening scene, and Kei can’t restrain a smile.

_This is perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation for the Flying Fish Joke - ‘Tobiou’ translates to flying fish, as presented wonderfully by the canon Tsukki and Yams (featuring Suga, who is not only skilled at setting up plays but also fish puns).
> 
> OC name generated through Google translating ‘heterosexual’ and rearranging the syllables because I am Creatively Drained.
> 
> You can call me Lou, if you’d like.


End file.
